


Golds Before Colds

by Seaver



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Olympics, Sickfic, Whump, hiding an illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 07:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14039190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seaver/pseuds/Seaver
Summary: At the 2018 Winter Olympic Games, Yuuri finds himself sick with a nasty cold.  Making it through the day may be a bigger challenge than the actual competition.





	Golds Before Colds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladymurloc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymurloc/gifts).



> Written as a (belated) birthday gift to my Discord wife!
> 
> Thanks to [mypoorfaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mypoorfaves/pseuds/mypoorfaves) for being my beta. With all the sickfics you have under your belt, it was an honor to have you look over mine. :)

“Yuuri, smile! The cameras are coming!”

“Huh?” Before Yuuri could process what Victor was saying, his husband was behind him, pushing him deeper into the stretch he was doing on the floor. Yuuri found his face closer to his knee than he could have ever wanted, and it was almost impossible to stave off the dizziness that had been plaguing him all day. He clenched his eyes shut. “Victor…” he protested weakly.

“Here they come!”

At Victor’s insistent voice, Yuuri forced his eyes open. He looked up as the camera passed by, smiling. Millions of people would watch the tiny video clips taken in the holding area as the skaters ran through their pre-competition rituals. What would they see? The facade, an iconic couple, supporting each other through the stress of the Olympic battle? Or the truth, one icon and one sick-as-a-dog Japanese man losing the battle raging within his body?

Was that too poetic? How can he even think these things right now?

Victor let him up as soon as the camera passed, and Yuuri eased out of the stretch gratefully. Sitting upright made the dizziness better. He could only imagine what spinning on the ice would be like.

_No. Don’t think about that. Victor’s saying something._

“It’s already on Twitter.” Victor beams as he scrolls through his phone.

Right. The Olympics were a rare chance for skaters to make an impression on those who didn’t normally watch figure skating. The more attention Victor and Yuuri got online, the more money sponsors would throw at them next year.

Thank god Victor was around to think about things like this. Yuuri was too distracted by the fire in his throat and the shivers wracking his body. He wiped sweat from his brow with a nearby rag.

“You okay?” Victor asked, glancing up from his phone. “You nervous?”

“No, I’m fine,” Yuuri said, trying to keep his voice light. “It’s just hot in here.”

Victor gave him a tender smile. “We’ll be on the ice soon, so that’ll help.” He set down his phone. “Ten minutes until warm-up. I’m going to run through my program one more time. Will you be alright?”

Yuuri knew he was looking for the telltale signs of anxiety. And while Yuuri was sure he was exhibiting a few signs —pale face, shakiness— he was far too tired to be twitchy and restless, like when his anxiety was really bad. So when Yuuri nodded, Victor seemed to believe him and left him alone.

Yuuri took a swig from his water bottle, wincing as the swallow irritated his throat. Maybe he should be grateful, in a way, for his cold. His mind was too foggy to be anxious. He just felt numb.

Sure, it was the Olympics.

Sure, he was in third after the Short Program.

Sure, JJ’s Free Skate had a higher base score.

…Okay, maybe he was a little anxious.

He was _sick_. At the _Olympics_. This was a nightmare.

He leaned back, resting his weight on the heels of his hands, and stared at the ceiling. He tried to get his breathing under control. In. Out.

He saw Victor in his periphery, running his program on dry land. Victor was 29 now. This would undoubtedly be his last Olympics. And his first Olympics as a coach. Yuuri couldn’t ruin that for him because he was sick.

“Yuuri?” Victor was suddenly above him, looking down worriedly. Yuuri must have zoned out. “Ready?”

Yuuri nodded and let Victor pull him to his feet. He wobbled a little at standing up so suddenly, but Victor didn’t seem to notice. He let himself be led out of the warm-up room and out to the rink. The cold air cleared his head a little, and he realized exactly what he was about to do.

“Crap,” he whispered under his breath. Above him, the crowd roared at their appearance.

Victor squeezed his hand. “It’ll be fine,” he whispered. “It’s just another competition.”

Yuuri glared at him.

“Well,” Victor said sheepishly. “Maybe not exactly.” He eyed the ice. “Want to play our game?”

Victor had invented it during practice one day, way back when he was coaching Yuuri in Hasetsu. Must have been over a year ago, now. When Victor started competing alongside Yuuri, they discovered together that playing it during competition warm-ups eased Yuuri’s anxiety.

Yuuri clenched his teeth and nodded. “I’ll lead.”

The pack of skaters drifted out to the middle of the ice as the announcers trumpeted the order of the final group. Otabek Altin, Christophe Giacometti, Yuuri Katsuki, Yuuri Plisetsky, Victor Nikiforov, Jean-Jacques Leroy. Yuuri waved when his name was called out, smiled a big smile. He only had to act for a few hours. He’d be back in his room in the Olympic Village soon. His only job until then was to not embarrass himself or Victor.

And maybe medal. That would be nice.

When JJ was finished waving at the audience, the skaters all broke off. Yuuri sped off ahead, skating long, sure strokes. Even with a cold, this came as naturally as breathing. He glanced at Victor, who was skating on the opposite side of the rink, watching him carefully.

He tried to focus on their game. Their game was fun, and would distract him from the way the chilled air was hitting his throat the wrong way every time he breathed.

After a lap or two, he jumped, just a single Axel. Start off slow. See what he could handle.

Across the rink, Victor shot him a confused look, but did a single Axel as well.

After all these competitions, no one had ever caught on to their game of copycat. Television cameras never seemed change between them at the right time, and Victor and Yuuri never skated exactly opposite of each other. Sometimes they were close, sometimes further apart. Even those in the audience didn’t pick up on what they were doing.

The single Axel had gone easily enough, so Yuuri did a double Lutz next. He watched Victor jump one too, with both arms raised. He raised his eyebrows at Yuuri when he came out of the landing, as if to say, “Please. Give me a challenge.”

Fine. If that’s the way he wanted to play it.

Yuuri launched himself into a complicated step sequence from his Junior days before jumping into a triple Toe Loop. He knew Victor had only seen the routine once or twice, and probably wouldn’t be able to copy it perfectly here.

The landing of the Toe Loop was shaky. The arena kept spinning even after the rotations were done. That wasn’t good.

He caught Victor’s eye. His husband looked indignant at the stunt, which was satisfying. As Yuuri predicted, he couldn’t copy the step sequence, so he made one up on the spot, but kept the entry for the Toe Loop the same.

Normally, Yuuri would have laughed, but he didn’t really feel like it today. Instead he just gave Victor a quick smile before dodging Otabek and pushing off the inside edge of his skate into a quad Salchow.

It was a mistake. He didn’t have the strength for it, maybe, or the coordination. Maybe he was missing both. But the jump was under-rotated, and Yuuri ended up sprawled on the ice.

The ice was almost soothing under his hot skin, but he pushed away from it quickly. He couldn’t show his weakness, not to Victor, not to the other skaters, not to the millions of people watching.

Victor gave him a sympathetic look as he stood up. He landed a perfect quad Salchow, then motioned for Yuuri to join him at the boards. Yakov tried to hand them both water bottles, but Yuuri ignored his and went right for the tissues.

While Victor gave him the same old lecture about how everyone falls in practice sometimes, Yuuri tried to blow his nose as quietly as possible. It still didn’t make the same sounds as normal. Victor didn’t seem to notice, but Yakov was watching him, a scowl on his face. Yuuri stared back, waiting to see if Yakov would say anything, but he didn’t.

Yuuri crumpled up the tissue and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. He gave a quick nod to Victor. “Got it,” he said, and then skated away.

He took it easy for the rest of the practice, not attempting another quad. He needed to save his strength.

It wasn’t much longer before the announcers asked everyone to step off the ice so Otabek could perform. When Yakov handed Yuuri and Victor their skate guards, Yuuri avoided eye contact.

“Are you okay?” Victor asked as they made their way back to the waiting area. “You seem… far away.”

He reached up to touch Yuuri’s cheek, and alarm bells went off in Yuuri’s head. He wasn’t sure if he had a fever or not, but he couldn’t let Victor find out. Much more quickly than Yuuri could have thought possible, he reached up to grab Victor’s wrist, then lowered it, threading their fingers together.

“I’m just trying to stay focused,” he said with a reassuring smile.

Victor accepted it easily, grinning back. “All right. Just keep yourself loose.”

Yuuri nodded. Normally, he’d try to keep his muscles warm by running in place. Today, just the thought exhausted him. Instead, he stretched lightly, careful to move his body around rather than sink into one position for any length of time.

If Victor noticed his change in routine, he didn’t comment on it. Then again, Victor had one eye on the TV, scouting out the competition.

It was time to concentrate. Time to ignore the way he was feeling, because Yuuri had a job to do. Just go out there, perform the routine he’s worked on for the better part of nine months, and survive. Then he can go back to the hotel.

The hotel.

His bed…

Yes. The bed was the end goal.

All too soon, Victor was pulling him toward the rink, saying something that Yuuri’s brain couldn’t quite catch. Somehow, in the solitude of his warm-up, he had regained that feeling of fuzziness, and the cool air of the rink couldn’t shake it off this time.

He couldn’t remember who was supposed to be performing right now. He couldn’t tell if the audience was cheering for whoever it was.

_Get a grip._

Yuuri tried desperately to clear his head, but it was useless. The sweat—Yuuri presumed it was from warming up earlier, but maybe it was from his fever— made him impossibly cold when he stood this close to the ice.

Victor was still talking, his face focused and determined. Yuuri didn’t want to disappoint him, so he nodded along. No matter what happened, he couldn’t embarrass Victor.

Victor helped him shrug out of his Team Japan jacket. Yuuri was happy to be free of the weight, but he also wanted to curl into himself to keep hold of the fleeing warmth.

He stepped onto the ice and took a few laps around the rink, hoping it would snap him out of his daze. It didn’t, and it took every ounce of Yuuri’s concentration to listen for the announcer to say the scores of his opponent, indicating the cameras would soon be focused on him.

That’s right, the cameras. Yuuri had forgotten. He couldn’t quite bring himself to think about the millions of people who would be watching him in another minute or two.

One more quick word to Victor. That was the next step. He skated over and took a small sip of the water Victor offered him. What was he saying?

“This is your moment. We’re going to be medalists together. The first pair of husbands to share an Olympic podium.”

Yuuri almost laughed at that. Medaling wasn’t even on his radar right now. Only surviving.

Victor clasped their hands together once before giving him an excited smile. “Go! It’s time!”

So Yuuri skated around, greeted the crowd, like he had for countless other competitions. It was muscle memory, and muscle memory alone, that got him to the middle of the rink and into his starting position.

The music started and Yuuri’s body automatically started going through the movements. He gave himself over completely, trusting his training to provide the direction that his mind could not.

The first quad came and left before Yuuri could remember why he was so concerned about it. He was halfway through the subsequent step sequence that he remembered he’d under-rotated it in practice. Oh well. Hopefully it had looked okay this time.

And now the second quad was done. Yuuri’s thoughts were at least fifteen seconds behind. Somehow, it seemed to be working for him.

His bed was getting closer and closer every second.

His spins were far, far more difficult than the jumps. His stomach lurched and Yuuri had to remember how to breathe. Luckily, spins never gave him much trouble on a good day, so he held on.

Since when were free skates so _long_? Surely he’d been skating for an hour! His muscles ached and his lungs screamed, still protesting the chill in the air.

He could feel the weakness as his legs turned to jelly, and he significantly under-rotated his last quad, the flip. His shoulder slammed painfully onto the ice and he felt really, really tempted to just stay down and relax a little.

But it wasn’t his bed. Yuuri wanted his bed.

So he pushed off and finished the routine, throwing himself into yet another dreaded spin before letting himself come to a stop as the music faded.

He slumped, hands on his knees, his breaths coming in fast pants. That was it! That was the hard part! It was over!

He felt himself smile at the thought, and immediately straightened to take his bows while his mood was still high.

Victor was waiting for him at the exit, and swept him into a hug. “You did so great,” he whispered into Yuuri’s hair.

“That’s a relief,” Yuuri muttered honestly. In Victor’s embrace, he could feel himself sagging, so he forced himself away and put on his skate guards.

Now that the performance was done, Yuuri found himself looking forward to some privacy. Maybe he’d head back to the warm-up room, lie down on the gymnastics mats he had been stretching on before. Maybe the cameras would leave him alone now that he had skated.

It felt so great to sit down in the kiss and cry. Victor handed him a water bottle and Yuuri drank, suddenly parched. Somewhere above, giant screens were highlighting his jumps and spins. He didn’t dare watch. He’d only fallen once, which was a blessing, but what must his performance score look like?

Beside him, Victor was giving thoughtful notes as he watched the replays. Yuuri couldn’t concentrate. He just nodded, dazed.

Suddenly, Victor was hugging him and shaking him and it wasn’t helping his dizziness. “Amazing, Yuuri!” he cried. “You’re in first!”

Oh, they must have announced the scores. Yuuri glanced up to see his score projected on the big screen, but couldn’t register what the numbers said. A second too late, he remembered the cameras and tried to smile.

When they left the kiss and cry, Yuuri moved to follow Victor back into the warm-up area, but Victor held out an arm to stop him. “No, Yuuri,” he laughed. “I’ve got to go get ready for my free skate. You follow the producers. Do what they tell you.”

Yuuri looked around and saw a lady with a clipboard and a headset gesturing at him.

“Oh,” Yuuri said, feeling a little lost. “Okay. Good luck.”

“Thanks, _solnyshko_ ,” Victor grinned. He bent to kiss Yuuri’s forehead, but Yuuri ducked at the last minute and pulled him into a hug. It wasn’t like Victor could pull Yuuri out of the competition at this point, but Yuuri didn’t see a reason to worry him unnecessarily, right before he performed. Best to keep hiding the fever.

Yuuri wasn’t sure where the lady would take him, but unfortunately, it didn’t end up being the warm-up room or the locker room. It was back in a staging area somewhere, full of equipment and television people frantically running to and fro. There, in the middle of the pandemonium, was a set, a faux living room with three couches and a TV.

And more cameras.

Yuuri groaned inwardly. He had forgotten about this. The prospective podium winners sat here, backstage, and watched the other competitors perform so the television crews could catch their reactions as the future of their medals hung in the balance. Already, two of the couches were occupied, Otabek on the left one, and Chris on the right one.

There would be no peace until the competition ended. Yuuri collapsed on the middle couch. At least he got to sit down.

Otabek nodded in greeting. “Good job. You skated well.”

None of the camera people seemed interested in what they were doing, so Yuuri let the pain show on his face a little. “Did I?” He couldn’t even remember his score.

“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” Chris teased. He was sprawled on his couch as if he was sitting in his own house. When Yuuri looked at him, miserable, Chris sat up. “Hey, are you okay?”

Yuuri shook his head, but that made him dizzy, so he clenched his eyes shut. A cool hand on his forehead startled him.

“You’re burning up,” Chris said, his doe eyes filled with concern. “And you look terrible. Can we get makeup over here?” he called to some of the nearby set workers.

“Yuri’s about to get his scores,” Otabek said, pointing to the TV. “They’re going to cut to us in a second.”

“Look at the cameras, Yuuri,” Chris said before making his way back to his couch.

Yuuri looked up right as someone started counting down and all the cameras swiveled in their direction. He did his best to smile. The lights were blinding as they beat down, giving Yuuri the beginnings of a headache.

And then Chris was by his side again. “Come on, you have to move couches.”

“Why?” Yuuri whined. He begrudgingly got to his feet.

“Because little Yuri took the lead. You’re in second, now.”

“Oh.” Yuuri didn’t know how to feel about that. He didn’t have a chance to think about it, because right when he sat down on the left couch, he was surrounded by several makeup artists. They dabbed away his sweat and applied a whole heap of powder to his face.

So much for keeping his illness a secret. Now the whole production crew knew. At least everyone here was diligently convinced that the show must go on.

Nearby, someone said, “You can go to the locker rooms now, Mr. Giacometti.”

Chris’s voice answered, “I’m not leaving until Victor gets here.” Yuuri can feel him nearby, sitting on the armrest of his couch.

 _Victor_. Yuuri had almost forgotten. “Move, move!” he said to the makeup artists. “I want to see Victor!”

They cleared away right as Victor’s music started. Yuuri was instantly entranced. “Oh,” he breathed, sinking down onto his elbow and resting his cheek against Chris’s knee. “Oh, he’s beautiful.”

From above him, Chris chuckled. “That he is.”

Yuuri hummed along to Victor’s music. He’d seen the program countless times before, but somehow, on the Olympic stage, it looked different. The camera angles were a little more attractive. The lights made his costume sparkle more. It was amazing.

Yuuri paid rapt attention to his husband until the very end. It was the most focused he had been all day. When Victor was done, he clapped his hands weakly. “Yay,” he cheered quietly. “He didn’t fall.”

Chris laughed again. “Does he ever?”

“Oh yes,” Yuuri yawned, closing his eyes. “Sometimes up to four times a day.”

“Four times?” Amusement colored Chris’s voice. “Well. We should send him back to Juniors, then.”

Yuuri opened his eyes and crinkled his nose. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Sit up,” Otabek’s stoic voice came from across the room. “It’s almost time.”

“What’s wrong with the piggy?”

“Yurio?” Yuuri looked around as he righted himself. Chris stood and moved out of the way so Yuuri could have a clear view of the first place couch. “Oh, hi.”

Yurio glared at him. “I’ve been sitting here for five minutes already.”

“Yuuri’s feeling a bit under the weather,” Chris supplied as he got out of the cameras’ way.

“You’re sick?” Yurio’s voice was gruff, but there was a tinge of concern there. Yuuri recognized it from the day he had told Yurio that Makkachin was in surgery at the Cup of China two years ago. “I don’t care about the dog,” Yurio had clarified, back then, “But that stupid mutt is the only good thing going on in Victor’s life, now that he’s not skating.”

“Smile!” Chris called from offstage.

Yuuri turned his attention the television screen again. The numbers of Victor’s score all blurred together, and he tried to find which one indicated his placement.

“Smile, Katsudon!” Yurio hissed. Yuuri struggled to obey.

“Cut!” someone yelled from behind the bright lights. Chris was instantly back at Yuuri’s side.

“Next couch!” he announced cheerfully.

“What, again?” Yuuri groaned. His body had no intention of moving. He looked helplessly up at Chris.

“You should be happy!” Chris said as he hoisted Yuuri to his feet. “Your husband’s in first place!”

Yuuri leaned his head against Chris’s shoulder with a smile. “Oh, he is?” he said dimly. “That’s good.”

“You literally just watched it on TV.” Yurio sounded cranky. “I’m not sitting on this germ-infested couch!”

Yuuri winced. “Why is he yelling?”

Chris helped him sit down. “Don’t worry about it.”

A team of people showed up with Lysol and wet wipes to sanitize Yuuri’s old couch. Yurio watched them with a look of disdain on his face. Otabek said something to him quietly before slipping out of sight.

Yuuri decided he didn’t care about all that. He peered up at Chris. “Where’s Victor?”

“Interviewing, probably. He’ll be up soon.” Yuuri must have looked as sad as he felt, because Chris stood up abruptly. “Maybe I’ll go down and see if I can’t hurry him up, huh?”

Yuuri beamed. “Okay.”

On his way out, Chris said to Yurio, “Keep an eye on him.” Yurio huffed and crossed his arms, flopping down on the newly disinfected couch.

Yuuri swayed a little, mostly on purpose to keep himself awake. Watching Victor skate had brought him to the end of his attention span. His head felt oddly heavy and all his muscles felt extra achy from his free skate.

Had he really landed two quads like this? How was that possible? He couldn’t land the one in practice. He must have had quite the adrenaline rush. It made sense that his energy was crashing now.

“Stop staring at me,” Yurio growled.

Yuuri blinked in surprise. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring.

Suddenly, a thought struck him. Yurio would know how Yuuri had done. He’d tell him the truth about Yuuri’s free skate, just in case Otabek and Chris had been lying to him before.

Yuuri leaned forward anxiously. “Yurio, did I skate okay?”

“How the hell should I know?” Yurio rolled his eyes. “I was warming up. I was too busy to watch you.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said, dropping his gaze to the ground. “Yeah. I guess that makes sense.”

He must have sounded downtrodden, because when Yurio spoke again, his voice had an unusual note of sympathy in it. “Your scores were pretty good, though. Especially given how crappy you look.”

Yuuri furrowed his brow. “What were they?”

“You don’t remember your scores?”

It took a great deal of effort for Yuuri to pull his eyes up and shake his head at Yurio.

“Shit,” Yurio muttered. “Where the hell is Victor?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri agreed. “Where the hell _is_ Victor?”

Yurio looked very surprised at that.

Suddenly, Otabek appeared at Yuuri’s side. Yuuri jumped a little.

“I found you some medicine,” he said, handing Yuuri two pills. “It’s just aspirin, but it should help.”

Yuuri looked down at the pills in his palm. “Thank you,” he said, touched.

When he didn’t immediately swallow the pills, Yurio leaned across the table and pushed Yuuri’s water bottle closer. Yuuri got the hint and took the medicine.

The cap on the water bottle refused to be replaced, however. Yuuri was fumbling with it with shaky hands when he heard Victor’s voice.

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri’s head whipped around. “Victor?”

Victor sat down next to him, cradling his face in his hands. “It’s true, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Victor,” Yuuri sighed happily at the sight of his ice blue eyes. He held up the problematic water bottle and cap. “Help.”

Victor capped the bottle in less than a second and put it back on the table, never taking his eyes off Yuuri’s face. Yuuri stared at Victor as if he had just done magic.

“How are you feeling?” Victor asked.

“Mmmm,” Yuuri hummed as he settled his head on Victor’s shoulder. “Sick.”

“I can see that.” Victor wrapped his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. He was warm. Yuuri snuggled closer. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“It’s the Olympics,” Yuuri said, as if that explained everything. And, in a way, it did.

A new voice interrupted their moment. “Mr. Nikiforov, you have to move to the other couch. Mr. Leroy will be receiving his scores any minute.”

Yuuri could practically feel Victor growl. “I’ll be staying here, thank you.” Yuuri heard footsteps make a hasty retreat.

Yuuri could feel his body getting heavier by the minute, and he let his eyes fall shut. He wished he could smell the reassuring scent of Victor’s deodorant, but he couldn’t smell anything. He tried to pretend, though.

A jostling sent a quick shock through his body. Victor was shaking him gently. “Don’t go to sleep, solnyshko,” he said. “We’re on in a second. Sit up. This is the last time.”

Yuuri didn’t think anything would ever be harder than trying to put the cap on the water bottle, but lifting his head from Victor’s shoulder sure came close.

“It doesn’t matter,” came Chris’s voice from somewhere behind the bright lights. “It’s on Twitter already. The announcers got wind of it.”

“What?” Yuuri suddenly felt wide awake, anxious. He looked in the direction of the TV personnel. Traitors.

“If it makes you feel any better, people are very impressed with the way you skated,” Chris went on.

“Sorry,” someone said, who didn’t sound very sorry at all. “The sympathy is good for ratings. Smile!”

What was the point, Yuuri thought, if the whole world already knew he was sick? But he put on a brave smile for the cameras anyway, before realizing he was supposed to be watching the television broadcast for JJ’s scores.

He didn’t even care what they were. There was too much excitement going on around here. What happened to Yuuri’s quiet hotel room and nice comfy bed?

Victor gave a moan of disappointment. “I’m sorry, Yuuri.”

Yuuri felt his fake smile fade. “Why?”

Yurio supplied the answer. “JJ took third.”

“Oh.” He still couldn’t bring himself to care. “Okay.” Except…

Victor looked so disappointed.

Yuuri felt a wave of shame rush over him. He had let Victor down. Yuuri had embarrassed him in his first Olympics as a coach.

Yuuri stood up so suddenly his head spun and he stumbled a little. Victor stood up almost as quickly to steady him. “Whoa, Yuuri, what are you doing?”

Yuuri bowed as deeply as his dizziness would let him. “I’m so sorry, Victor. I should have landed that last quad. I should’ve…”

His apology trailed off as Victor hugged him close. “You should have told me you were sick,” he murmured in Yuuri’s ear. “But you got fourth place in the world, even though you were feeling so badly. I’m so proud of you.”

Yuuri sniffled, close to tears.

“Hey!” Yurio interrupted. “They need us back down on the ice.”

It took Yuuri a minute to remember they had to distribute the medals.

“I can’t go…” he said, feeling very small.

“Chris?” Victor asked.

“I’ll stay with him.”

Victor met Yuuri’s eyes. “Take off your skates in the locker room and then meet me rinkside. It’ll be another half hour, okay? And then we can go back to the hotel.”

“Okay.” It was hard to step away from Victor’s body, like resisting the pull of a magnet, but Yuuri managed to let him go.

He trudged along as he followed Chris. Outside the locker room, Chris’s coach caught up to them them and started speaking very quickly in French. Chris said something back and motioned to Yuuri.

“It’s okay,” Yuuri said. “I can take it from here.”

He squeezed past the two of them and wandered into the locker room, wincing as the heavy door shut with a loud thunk that echoed in the emptiness.

It was the first time he’d been alone all day. The first time there were no cameras around. He felt so relieved at the solitude that he let out his breath in a whoosh.

The metal bench was much less comfortable than the couch, but it was still a relief to sit down, his legs throbbing even though he’d only walked a short distance. He unlaced his first skate and pulled it off. He reached back to pack it in his duffel bag, which was sitting on the bench a little ways behind him, but stopped when he noticed how comfortable it looked with his towel inside.

Exhausted, he leaned himself back so he was laying flat on his back on the bench, duffel bag under his head. _Just a little breather,_ he thought, even as his eyelids fell shut, _and then I’ll get going._

But laying down was a little too nice, and the muffled roar of the crowd was a little too soothing. Yuuri never made it to the second skate.

 

* * *

 

He woke to a hand stroking his hair. It felt so soothing that he leaned into it before opening his eyes, Victor’s familiar palm cupping his cheek. Yuuri hummed in appreciation. “Victor…”

He blinked his eyes open, surprised at how gravely his voice sounded. He tried to clear his throat, but that just brought on a round of coughing that had him curling in on himself, half sitting on the bench.

“Oh, _solnyshko_ ,” Victor said sadly. He moved his hand to support Yuuri’s weight so he could sit all the way up. He rubbed his back as Yuuri worked his way through the coughing fit.

When it finally subsided, Yuuri practically collapsed against Victor, exhausted. Victor’s body was a warm pillar of strength, bringing comfort everywhere it came in contact with Yuuri, from his cheek all the way down to his thigh as they sat, pressed together on the bench.

Otabek’s medicine must have helped. Yuuri still felt feverish, but the dizziness was gone and he no longer felt on the verge of a headache. His muscles were tired, like he had just had a long day of practice, but his joints weren’t achy anymore.

Yuuri eventually caught his breath enough to take in his surroundings. They were alone in the locker room. He wasn’t sure where the other skaters were. The noise from the audience above them had faded to a dull, constant murmur. Yuuri’s eyes wandered until they caught the flash of gold that hung around Victor’s neck.

“Oh no,” he groaned, burying his face in the plushy shoulder of Victor’s Team Russia jacket. Hot tears pricked his eyes. “No, I missed it…”

“It’s okay. Are you crying?”

“Of course I’m crying.” Yuuri pulled away to swipe at his eyes. “It was my only chance to see my husband get a gold medal at the Olympics, and I slept through it!”

He was so angry at himself. How could he be so stupid? He should have known that the instant he laid down, he would have fallen asleep. He thinks back to the little boy who watched Victor win his very first Olympic medal. He remembers how he and Yuuko jumped up and down with excitement, spilling their bowl of popcorn all over the floor.

He had let that little boy down today. He had let _Victor_ down.

Yuuri hid his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“Are you kidding?” Victor’s finger found the bottom of Yuuri’s chin and tilted it up to look at him. “I didn’t notice you were sick all day, and you’re the one apologizing?”

Yuuri didn’t know what to say, so he just sniffled.

“I’m so sorry, _solnyshko_ ,” Victor went on. He pressed their foreheads together, and his felt cool against Yuuri’s. He rubbed one of Yuuri’s cheeks with his thumb, even though Yuuri was sure his face was a snotty, disgusting mess. “I should have been paying more attention to you. Even Yakov could see that you were ill.”

He said the last sentence with a bit of annoyance, so Yuuri said, “Don’t be too mad at him. I’m glad he kept my secret.”

“Well, I’m not,” Victor said, but Yuuri could tell he was teasing, and they both chuckled, breaths intermingling.

Yuuri suddenly jerked back, alarmed. “You’ll get sick!”

Victor laughed. “I don’t care. And even if I do, at least I won’t have to skate through it.” He bent to untie Yuuri’s one remaining skate.

“Yeah.” Yuuri hunched over, already feeling tired again. “That wasn’t fun.”

“I bet not.” With a little bit of wrestling, Victor got the skate off and pulled Yuuri’s shoes from the duffel bag. He handed the shoes to Yuuri. “You ready to go?”

The hotel. The comfy bed.

Yuuri flung his head back. “Yeeeesss,” he moaned at the ceiling. He ignored Victor’s laughter as he tied his shoes as fast as he could.

“Come on, then,” Victor said, his hand fitting comfortably in Yuuri’s. “Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow my writing on Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/seaverwritessometimes)


End file.
